


Not to Conquer, but to Share in the View

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, i don't know how well it worked, my attempts at fluff, post 5x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:55:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 5x12 fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not to Conquer, but to Share in the View

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song 'Black Heart Inertia' by Incubus. The whole line is "You're a mountain that I'd like to climb, not to conquer, but to share in the view." I know it probably makes me really cheesy, but I like that as a description for their whole relationship. They weren't ever trying to 'fix' or 'tame' each other, they were just trying to get to the person lurking underneath all that defensiveness.  
> Okay... that was cheesy.   
> Also, I'm going to make like the Shameless writers and ignore the fact that there apparently aren't any Sizzlers in Chicago.

It’d been a hard couple of months. Breaking up to make up; Ian trying to get his meds straight; Mickey struggling to find a real job. Ian’s family was still tiptoeing around him, always so careful not to say or do the wrong thing. Living at the Milkovich house was kind of stressful, too. If the look on Svetlana’s face was any indication, she was sorry she hadn’t bashed his head in last year. She refused to leave him alone with Yevgeny.

Ian was exhausted, the good days unevenly interspersed with the bad.

But things were starting to get better. After everything that’d happened between him and Mickey, they were slowly getting to a healthier place. Mickey drank less; Ian was going to get his GED.

Progress.

For the past couple days, though, things were weird. Ian couldn’t put his finger on what it was. They’d talk, but it seemed to be more for the sake of making noise than it was for them to actually communicate. He felt like he and Mickey were missing each other somehow. The more they talked, the less they seemed to say.

“We’re almost outta diapers,” Mickey told him one night. He was almost ready to go to work at some new club. It wasn’t ideal, but the owner of the place had taken one look at Mickey’s FUCK U-UP tattoos, and decided that he’d do as bouncer. Ian didn’t like it, but they needed the money.

“Yeah, I’ll get some in the morning,” Ian replied, watching as Mickey finished changing Yev. He’d gotten better at it, and returned the little boy’s gummy smile, genuine in a way that Ian wouldn’t have believed possible a couple of months ago.

“Alright, little man, it’s time for bed,” Mickey told his son.

“No!” Yev giggled. “No, no, no!”

Ian grinned. It was the latest word the kid had picked up. Probably because, ever since Yev had started walking, that was all anyone ever said to him.

Listening to Yev’s voice trailing off, and Mickey patiently soothing him, Ian dropped down onto the couch. He was sort of at a loss for what to do.

He sat there for a while, thinking. With everything that had happened between them since his diagnosis, they’d been so focused on getting back together, on making things work, that they’d sort of... Ian struggled to put it into words, even in his own head. Like, they were trying so hard to be together that they’d forgotten how to be together.

“Hey, there’s some other shit we need to get. Lana’s made a list. You got money?” Mickey asked, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Yev. He began pulling on his jacket, looking around for his cell phone.

“Uh, yeah, I’m good.” Ian paused. Then, “You gonna be working tomorrow night?”

“What, your family invite us for dinner, or somethin’?” Mickey asked, now shoving his wallet into his back pocket.

“No, I was thinking... maybe you and me could do something. Just the two of us.”

Mickey paused. “Like a date?” he asked.

That cautious tone had Ian backtracking.

“It’s probably a bad idea,” he said, attempting to shrug the matter off. “Fuck knows, we shouldn’t tempt fate. Last time we tried, I got arrested.”

“You don’t wanna do it?”

_Honesty,_ Ian reminded himself. _Honesty was important._ But so was keeping the peace. He tried to compromise.

“Sure,” Ian hedged, “but it’s not a big deal.”

A long moment of silence before Mickey spoke again.

“I’m workin’ tomorrow, but I got the night after off. Maybe we could... I dunno, have dinner, or somethin’.”

Ian felt a flicker of hope. “Really?”

“Yeah, man, whatever you want.” Then, after a brief hesitation, Mickey ducked down to press a quick kiss to Ian’s mouth. It wasn’t much, barely lasted more than a moment, but the contact was sweet, reassuring in a way that Ian hadn’t realised he needed.

“Thanks,” he whispered as Mickey pulled back.

“Any time, tough guy.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Date night saw Ian standing in front of the bathroom mirror, fussing with his shirt. He was wearing a black Henley with a pair of skinny jeans; he felt self-conscious. Ridiculous, the fluttery feeling in his stomach as he checked his appearance. God knew Mickey had seen him at his very worst; he probably wouldn’t give two shits what Ian wore, so long as the night didn’t end in bloodshed.

That was probably why he was trying so hard, Ian conceded. No matter how hard they’d tried in the past, things had—without fail—gone to hell.

More than anything, Ian wanted tonight to go right.

A loud banging on the door made him jump a little. Mickey’s voice sounded slightly impatient.

“You ever gonna come outta there?”

“Shit,” Ian muttered to himself. “Yeah, give me a sec,” he said more loudly to Mickey. Taking a last look in the mirror, Ian pulled the door open.

“Damn, Gallagher,” Mickey said, giving him an appreciative once over. “You clean up good.” Ian couldn’t stop the slight flush that crept across his cheekbones.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” he answered. And it was true. Mickey had on a black button up, and was wearing his only pair of good jeans. Ian smiled fondly as he wondered how long that particular shirt was going to last before Mickey decided to modify it.

Mickey gave an awkward little shuffle; accepting compliments had never been his thing.

“You ready to get outta here?”

They left the house a few minutes later, with Svetlana pointedly ignoring Ian’s goodbye.

Heaving a tired sigh, he wondered how much longer that was going to last. Not that he could blame her; he’d run off with her kid. Ian would’ve been more surprised if she’d taken the whole thing in stride. Still, he missed the time he used to spend with Yev.

“She’ll come round,” Mickey murmured, seeing the disappointment on Ian’s face.

“I know.” Shaking off the melancholy, Ian forced himself to ask in a bright voice, “Where we going?”

“Promised you I’d take you to Sizzlers,” Mickey reminded him.

That was a bittersweet memory. Choosing to focus on the happy parts, Ian feigned surprise. “Wait, Sizzlers? You mean we’re gonna actually sit at a table to eat dinner?”

“Uh-huh,” Mickey answered, playing along. “And I’m payin’.”

“You’re not expecting me to put out, are you?”

Mickey laughed at that, and the sound caused the tight ball of tension sitting in Ian’s chest to deflate. He’d missed that sound, hadn’t heard it enough since they’d gotten back together. Acting on impulse, Ian reached out to pull Mickey closer by his belt loops. He then lifted his hands to tilt Mickey’s chin up, kissing those full lips he loved so much.

Rising up on his tiptoes, Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian’s shoulders. They stood there like that for a few minutes before Mickey finally pulled away. By that point, Ian was ready to skip dinner and go back into the house, just so he could get Mickey under him.

“C’mon, you hussy,” Mickey said in a breathless voice. “It’s no fun if you don’t make me work for it.”

He gave a pained groan, enjoying Mickey’s wicked grin, before following his boyfriend to the car.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the time Ian had spent away from home, he’d hung out with some pretty well-to-do people, guys who wouldn’t hesitate to drop hundreds of dollars on one meal. Most of those men would’ve turned their noses up at this place; for Ian, it was perfect.

Because he was with Mickey. His boyfriend was taking him to a place that was, to Mickey’s mind, the height of fine dining. The sweetness of the gesture made Ian’s chest hurt.

“This is nice, Mick,” he said, reaching out to take Mickey’s hand. Ian knew Mickey wasn’t entirely comfortable with public displays, so he was surprised when Mickey didn’t pull away.

“Just want you to be happy,” Mickey told him with a shrug.

They ordered, and things were going well. Mickey was eyeing the buffet in a manner that told Ian he was trying to come up with a way to sneak food out of the restaurant. For the first time in a while, though, it felt like they were talking _to_ each other rather than _at_ each other. It was maybe half an hour into their date when they became aware that they’d attracted some unwanted attention.

A few tables away sat a group of college-aged guys. Their table was loaded with empty beer bottles, and their loud voices carried over to where Mickey and Ian were sitting.

“So, which one d’you guys think is the bitch?” one of the men asked, to the snickers of his friends.

Ian could see that Mickey was grinding his teeth; Ian couldn’t blame him. Why couldn’t they ever just catch a break? Just for once?

“Ignore them,” Ian instructed quietly.

It carried on that way for almost fifteen minutes. Mickey’s knuckles were turning white as they gripped the cutlery. Tension spiking, Ian was just about to ask Mickey if he wanted to leave when the loudest of the dudebros stood up. The movement caught Mickey’s eye, and before Ian could think to stop him, he was out of his seat.

“Wait, Mick, what’re you doing?” he whispered frantically. Jesus, Mickey was going to cause a scene right here in front of everybody.

Ignoring Ian, Mickey followed the guy from the other table down to the bathrooms. Quickly checking the table, Ian was relieved to note that Mickey had left his knife behind. Not that that meant anything, Ian thought darkly. Mickey could have any number of weapons hidden under his button up.

They weren’t gone long. Dudebro came back first, his face pale, clothes slightly dishevelled. He spoke to his friends quietly, gesturing that they needed to go. Mickey took his own seat a moment later, his expression calm. Acting like nothing had happened; he picked up his knife and fork, and carried on eating.

The guys who’d been hassling them left after a few minutes.

“What did you do?” Ian asked, rounding on Mickey. He was torn between being impressed, and being completely exasperated.

“Hmmm?” Mickey looked up from his steak. His attempt at an innocent expression didn’t fool Ian for a second.

“Spare me,” Ian scoffed, giving Mickey a little kick under the table. “What did you do? Did you threaten him?”

“I had to take a leak!” Mickey protested loudly, earning himself a few dirty looks from the other patrons. “An’ I’m on a date with you. Know better than to tell some fuck face who don’t know when to shut the hell up that he’s gonna end up in the hospital with a broken spine.”

“Oh, for God’s sake...”

“You ain’t listenin’, Gallagher,” Mickey told him patiently. “I didn’t do any of that.”

Ian couldn’t help it. The smile he’d been fighting back slipped free.

They talked about other things after that. Declining the offer of dessert, their waitress brought them the bill; smacking Ian’s hand away, Mickey paid, and they left the restaurant.

The ride home was quiet. Ian couldn’t believe that they’d made it through an entire evening without some major catastrophe. Thinking about all the shit that had gone down before and after his arrest, Ian felt that tension from before rising inside him again. He had so much he had to say to Mickey, so much he’d put off because he didn’t know how to put the words together.

He was being a pussy, Ian realised suddenly. He owed it to Mickey to put himself out there.

Pulling up outside the house, Mickey was undoing his seatbelt when Ian turned to face him.

“I wanna talk to you about something,” he said seriously.

“Can’t it wait ‘til we get inside?” Mickey asked, giving him a strange look.

“No.” Ian took a deep breath before forcing the words past his tight throat. “I’m sorry. For everything that happened after I got sick.”

“Ian, you don’t have to—”

“Let me finish,” Ian cut him off. “I put you through a lot. And a lot of people would’ve given up on me. But you...” Here he struggled to speak. It didn’t seem like enough, couldn’t cover how much he loved Mickey for all he’d done. “You were there for me. Through everything. And... it... I appreciate it,” he finished lamely.

Silence inside the car; Ian shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed.

The loud _thunk_ of Mickey’s seat being shoved back surprised him. Then, Mickey was crawling over the handbrake to climb onto Ian’s lap. Not giving Ian any time to react, Mickey straddled him, kissing him hungrily.

Hands instinctively settling onto Mickey’s hips, all Ian could do was enjoy the feel of Mickey’s ass grinding against his cock. Feeling himself harden, Ian pulled away with a frustrated groan. Mickey was undeterred, lips travelling along Ian’s jaw so he could suck lightly on his earlobe.

“Fuck,” Ian gasped. “Let’s go inside; someone’s gonna see us.”

“All they’re gonna see,” Mickey said, making no move to get out of the car, “is us actin’ like a couple teenagers.”

Ian froze for a moment. Then he smiled, because that’s exactly what they were: _a couple of teenagers._

He hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

Threading his fingers through Mickey’s hair, Ian decided that he didn’t care who saw him making out with his boyfriend.


End file.
